


When Everything Starts Going to Ruins

by ViewingTm



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Other, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 07:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2723675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViewingTm/pseuds/ViewingTm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A synopsis of Rose's less analytical inner turmoil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Everything Starts Going to Ruins

I tend to keep myself guarded.

I don’t want anyone to know me.

You can’t know my name, my face, my personality, my grades, how I’m feeling, what I want, or what I think. That information is what I think I should keep to myself.

If I have a problem, I won’t mention it. If I feel like utter crap that day, I won’t talk about it.

“I’m tired.”

“It’s fine, I just didn't sleep to well.”

“I got a bad grade on a test. Oops.”

You do know that I never actually think that way right? If I was supposed to be the ace student in my GRADE, meaning the top one in the SCHOOL, last year, why would my excuses be something like this? Why would I have such a shallow outlook on things, and complain at the slightest push in the wrong direction? Why would it not occur to anyone else that I have something else going on?

Because looks are deceiving. I always have everything together, and when I don’t, no one can speak to me. No one can bat a eyelash, no one can give a glance with a concerned look on there face, and no one can make a single joke in an attempt to make me laugh.

I’m not a ‘people person’. I never have been. People don’t talk to me unless they have to, they don’t look at me unless they have to, they don’t even know my name unless they’re forced to.

Because I’m that one kid in that one class they have that answered that ONE question that a few other people couldn’t, I’m recognized. Not because I have talent, not because I’m actually smart, not because there is anything truly notable about me. I’m spoken to because it is a requirement. I’m noticed because it is a requirement. I don’t make a name for myself, I don’t make any first impressions, I just exist. I wait for you to place your judgments on me, and try not to live up to any negatives.

I don’t talk to people first, even if I’m feeling bold that day. I won’t go up to anyone and start talking, just have a conversation out of nowhere. I’m apprehensive even if I know the person. The amount of times that I have sat in class, tapping my foot wildly and feeling ready to vomit, about to explode out of myself unless I get out of that classroom right now, and have just, said nothing, are chalking up pretty fast.

I’m 2 minutes away from crying and 10 steps away from someone I can talk to, even if It’s only for 30 seconds of “Are you okay?”s and a hug, and I just…won’t. Because I don’t want myself to. Because I don’t deserve that kind of reprieve.

I used to be at the top of my game and I came to high school and got knocked down off of the pedestal I didn't even know I was on. My GPA isn't perfect, my health isn't perfect, my height isn't perfect, my dress isn't perfect, my classes aren't perfect, and now everything is ruined. Because I was BETTER than this. Because I can be BETTER than this. Because this isn't what I’m capable of. I’m not supposed to be confused when I look up at the board. I’m not supposed to be falling asleep in every class and having near panic attacks in the hallway because I think some asshole is going to try to push me again. Because I think someone is going to touch me again. Because I think someone is going to try to interact with me again.

My backpack isn't heavier some days because I have more work to do. I don’t carry around an extra 1 or 2 textbooks because I have an assignment that requires them. It’s not because I have to. It’s a form of punishment. I can’t sit in the front of the class, distracted from my worksheets and start snapping a rubber band at my wrist. I can’t run to the bathroom and start slamming myself against a wall because people are ALWAYS in there. I carry an extra 10 or 20 pounds in my hands or on my back to remind myself that, “No, you can’t go off with them to do whatever extracurricular activity. No, you can’t start doing something other than your assignment in class. It’s because you CAN’T pay attention. You can’t think on your actions hard enough TO SHUT THE FUCK UP, and listen to what Mr. or Ms. Whatever Their Name Is is talking about, and ace assignments. What does it matter if you get 2 or 3 questions right? An A- is failing. A B, in any form IS FAILING. YOU’RE A FAILURE IF YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GET AWAY WITH WHAT SMART PEOPLE CAN. You never knew what you were doing in classrooms. You’re a kiss-ass, that’s the only reason the teachers let you slide with so much bullshit last year. There was a miscalculation in the system. You were never at the top of your class. You’re not good enough for that.”

I’m not being told this. No one has to tell me. I already know. I can’t accept a compliment about my looks or my skills. Because both of those are lacking. I can’t dress like I want, I can’t score like I want, I can’t look how I want to, I can’t think how I want to. I’m not disapproving your opinion about me, I just don’t agree with it.

I try so hard in school because it is the only place where I have to focus on something so hard, I can sometimes get distracted from my constant inner turmoil.

I tend to keep myself guarded.

This is because I am a variable.

I am unpredictable.

I’m a burden, a handicap, and I want no one stepping aside to give me any leeway. No one knows these things because I know they’ll treat me differently when they do. I know that if they look at me and my strange mannerisms, my attention in class, my emotion in social situations, they’ll call me a liar.

“If you have so many things wrong with you, why don’t you act like it?”

Because then I’d actually be damaged.

No one likes damaged property.

I don’t cry when I wish to, I don’t lay down when I need to, I don’t think on my own, I don’t give others blame for things they cause. If someone screws me over, it’s my fault somehow, even if I have nothing to do with it.

2 group projects. 2 of them this year, I worked on practically by myself. I would have completed them better if I knew I would be the only one participating. And guess who got As on both of those assignments? Everyone did. But because it wasn't a perfect 100, someone was lacking in something.

And that someone was me.

The person that stayed up until 10, 11, 12, at night, while others slept soundly in their beds, worrying if the project would be alright for the next day. Finishing homework that I had no chance to work on during the day, because I was doing what they should have. And even though I should resent them, I can’t. Because they have better things to do that sit here and listen to me bitch and moan about something I should have done happily.

I realize now, I can never change my thoughts on something like this. I will always be the one at fault. No matter what anyone says, that is just how it will be. I can’t be hurt.

When I’m sore from the day before, and curling in on myself in silent self-hatred, it’s no one’s business. That’s my problem, and in this world now, you have to deal with your own problems. I have always had to deal with my own problems. If I’m feeling especially cruddy that day and I just want a hug from someone, that’s no one else’s business.

“If you feel shitty, deal with it. That’s your problem, and in this world now, you have to deal with your own problems.”

I’m my own problem, and I can’t just lock myself up in a room.

Sometimes, while I’m sitting next to people, I’ll cross my legs and sit on my hands, or push my knees as close as they’ll go, lean forward on my chair, and shove my hand underneath my left thigh. I do this, not because it’s comfortable (the pressure I put on my hand always makes it fall asleep), but because I’m trying to make myself smaller. My head will go closer and closer to my collarbone until I realize what I’m doing, and stop before anyone else sees. I wish I weren’t noticed. I wish I could just scrunch up into a tiny bit of nothing, and no one would ever see me or be concerned with me ever again. I want to crush every bit of myself up until there’s none of me left most times, and I’ll sit as far away from people as I can. It isn't because you smell strange, or because I don’t like you that I’ll inch away from that side of the chair, It’s because I think that if I push myself a few more centimeters this way, you won’t have to pay attention to me. You can go on with your day, because I won’t exist.

Sometimes I think about my name, and where I come from. Other times I think about my pronouns and how I’m labeled. Fewer times, I’ll think about what would happen if I changed that.

If I decided that no, I don’t want to be Rosalynn anymore, and I wanted to be someone with a normal name. If I wanted to be someone who didn't have red line under both their first and last name. If I didn't want to have to scroll back up and correct my mistake.

Maybe I’d decide that I don’t even want to be a girl anymore. That I've gotten tired of being called a man in my gym classes, and being pointed and laughed at, that I've gotten tired of being ridiculed because of my masculine demeanor, that I've gotten tired of being put down because of how quickly I try to walk to my classes to avoid the thousands of people trailing behind me, because of how I’ll hunch my back to try to cover the bumps on my chest that I wish weren't there.

That maybe I’d feel better about myself if I had something that would hurt like hell if it got kicked, that maybe I’d like being lanky as hell with a cropped haircut and a handsome smile. That being called handsome wouldn't be an insult. Maybe I’d like being about to walk around thinking the way I want to without anyone trying to argue against it to me. That I hate being treated differently because I’m supposed to be a certain thing. Maybe I don’t like having to tell you 10 times that I don’t mind if you hit me harder than you were supposed to, that maybe I want to fall down and break something badly for once. That I’d like to feel a form of pain that was that brutal, that I wouldn't be easily breakable in that state, that I would have done something well. I would have played against the odds, and gotten my ass kicked in, but I would have still done it.

Last year for gym, most of the year was basketball. It is a boy’s oriented sport, and because every boy in my class was hellbent on proving to the other that yes, he could make a 3 pointer from behind the half court line, no girl wanted to participate. They’d stand in the middle of the court and block anyone from getting around them, or sit on the sidelines, braid each other’s hair and talk uselessly about their non-existent boyfriends.

I’d be on the court no matter what.

I would block whoever I was told to block, hold for the only kid in my class that was over 6 feet tall, and kick some major ass with one of the shortest, but very talented, basketball players I've ever met.

I finally got congratulations from my gym teacher at the end of the year for my participation, but still ended the year without a 100 in his class.

Why do you think that is?

Because I’m not a biological male.

Because I can’t jump like they can because something will always move, because I can’t speak like they can because it’s distasteful, because I’m not like them.

During the practice for the graduation ceremony, a boy from one of the other classes called me a lesbian. As I was doing my ending walk, I was called a lesbian, the statement which was followed by boisterous laughter and a pointed glare at me. I don’t dislike lesbians, but I am not one. I would not wish to be called something that I am not.

I am not feminine.

The clothes I wear are always trying to hide everything below my chin. Everything that I show is just one step away from what I would call my body confidence. I don’t have any men’s wear. No shirts, no pants, no shoes. I can’t dress how I’d like to or think how I’d like to, because then I’d be noticed. And that’s a problem. I’m a problem.

I’ve had a bad habit since the 7th grade, and a vowed to get rid of that habit before high school.

I still have that habit.

It’s not going away anytime soon.

I think about these things to myself, these secrets that I’d never have the confidence to actually open my mouth and voice to anyone else.

The reasons why I try to keep my mouth closed most of the day.

The actual reasons why I’ll hold myself and curl into my collarbone.

The reasons why I try not to look at anyone else.

The actual reasons why I try not to frown or keep too quiet amongst my peers.

It’s because I can’t afford to stop playing this game. This back and forth, up and down facade, this game of chance that will only lead me in the wrong direction. Once my mask is broken, and it can’t be pieced back together, I’m ruined. I’m a liability and I can’t manage my emotions if anyone tries to take care of me. I can’t keep this up for much more time. I can’t manage 4 years of this, not when everyone else has it easier. Not when they don’t stress out about assignments, not when they don’t try and they get great grades on everything, not when they can say things that hurt me, really hurt me, and not care.

Not when I can hate everything about me from my head to my toes, and they can’t see it when I want someone to help me. Not when I sit in front of my hand-me-down laptop and cry about, “Nothing, absolutely nothing,” and they sleep like small children after a day of playing. Not when I ask for it. Not for when I let it happen and say nothing to anyone about it. About why, “I can’t look you the same way. Please stop talking to me.” About why, no, we can’t take him with us. Because we can’t. That’s why.

Not when I’m losing myself and it’s my fault.

Just like everything else is.

I tend to keep myself guarded.

Because I’m good at it, and I don’t need anyone’s charity.

Because it’s 1:45 am and I’ve never said all of this before and I’m crying.

Because I don’t like crying. Because I don’t like feeling so pitiful.

Because I have many secrets, many things I think about to myself, small truths that I’d never have the confidence to actually open my mouth and voice to anyone else.

I want to cut all of this out of the post and not send this anywhere. I want to keep this to myself. But because I know no one will read it, and no one will care, I’ll let this go, and take the repercussions as my fault. Just like everything else is.

**Author's Note:**

> I hadn't updated my other fanfiction in a while, simply because time hasn't been working out too well for me, so I decided to give anyone who will read it a small gem. I know that it's canon that Rose is lesbian, but for this specific story, I just wanted her to be a demi-boy.


End file.
